Page 127 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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man might solve some of the puzzles.

Brokenclaw had seated himself at the head of the table, and as Bond took the
place to his right, Frozen Stalk Pu entered silently, placing two large racks of
toast in front of each of them.
James Bond OO7 - printing disabledquite a legend at Beijing Hsia,’ Bond began. ‘They say that you are James Bond OO7 - printing disabled
‘You are
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half Chinese and half Blackfoot Indian. Can this be true?’
Lee swallowed a mouthful of food, nodding. ‘It is true. What some people
do not realise is that my ancestry is almost royal, on both sides – Chinese and
Blackfoot.’ He continued, telling the same story that Bond had heard in the

museum of British Columbia.
As Bond had experienced at the first hearing of the story, there was
something almost hypnotic about the way Brokenclaw spoke. Then he noticed
two other things – when he sat close, watching Lee eat, the strange twisted
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hand became more apparent, also the tale of his mixed ancestry was repeated
as though learned by heart. He recalled a remark Lee had made in Victoria – ‘I
have heard it said,’ Bond clearly recalled the almost conspiratorial smile
which had crossed his face, ‘I have heard it said that I am a fraud, that I have

invented these stories, that I am nothing more than the child of some itinerant
Chinese tailor and a Blackfoot girl who sold her body in Fort Benton. None of
this is true.’
As he remembered this, Brokenclaw repeated those same words, as though

they were a ritual part of his story, learned and programmed into his mind.
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Bond nodded. ‘You are, obviously, rightly proud of your heritage, Mr Lee.
You’ve certainly proved that to those of us who work in Beijing Hsia. But what
of your Blackfoot ancestors? Do you still maintain contact?’

Lee nodded. ‘Most certainly. I doubt if I could live with myself if I did not
spend time among my other people. I need to recharge my batteries like the
next man. There are members of the old Blackfoot Confederacy who live apart.
High in the Chelan Mountains, in Washington State, there is a peaceful camp

where they live out their lives in the old way. I go there often. I like to breathe
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the smoke from my teepee, reflect on life, talk to my ancestors. Few people
know I visit this camp, but I can tell you that those quiet tranquil people would
fight to the death for me because I am one of them and I have relatives among

them.’
He stopped abruptly and went on eating until Bond, changing the
conversation, asked if there were any worries about the girl, Wanda.

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